


HEAT!

by Golden_Ticket



Series: TOGETHER! [8]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2019, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Shower sexy times, heat wave, too hot to stay in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 00:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Ticket/pseuds/Golden_Ticket
Summary: orHold Me Till I'm Liquid***He always loves it when she touches him, those sweet encouraging pats she gives him, on the ice and in private. They’re her way of letting him know he’s being good and that she’s happy with whatever it is he’s doing. He loves that. Except right now, right now it’s fucking terrible.***Montreal is in the clutches of a heat wave...but luckily Tessa and Scott splurged on a pretty epic shower in their new house.





	HEAT!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something about the heat wave that is currently plaguing us around here and because taking showers is one of the only things that helps right now..here we are.
> 
> Then I got a request to incorporate a twist, so you will know when we get there...I hope you like it and maybe laugh a little. And I hope we all make it out of this heat okay :D

Scott groans, long and hard. It’s just too much. There’s something so primal about that sound, something base and naked that Tessa must be appreciating it because she can’t help but reach for him. He always loves it when she touches him, those sweet encouraging pats she gives him, on the ice and in private. They’re her way of letting him know he’s being good and that she’s happy with whatever it is he’s doing. He loves that. Except right now, right now it’s fucking terrible.

“No touchy,” he wails and scoots away but even that exertion is enough to knock the breath out of his lungs and drench his forehead in sweat. It’s too damn hot and there’s no escape.

 

He feels icky and smelly and disgusting and he’s not even doing anything. He’s just lying on their king bed, his limbs spread away from him like a star fish and tries not to have any part of his body come into contact with  _ her _ body, which is very, very, very unusual for him. Who fucking knew Canada could be  _ this _ tropical in June and that Montreal, city of winter, would be the worst at that. Evidently whoever once built the AC into their newly acquired house had not anticipated the thermometer to ever climb beyond 32 degrees or something because at the 38 it’s counting now, the darn thing does shit all to cool down  _ anything. _

“We should’ve gotten that fan,” he mutters and feels moistness on his upper lip which he has literally just swept dry with the back of his hand two seconds ago. All that’s left to do is whine, really. “This is unbearable. Make it stop.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Tessa complains and shifts on the bed next to him, fanning out her hair onto the mattress, presumably so it doesn’t collect all her head sweat at the base of her neck. Ugh, gross. “Want me to make it rain, babe?”

 

“Oh, could you?” He asks with mock enthusiasm he is too tired to sell properly. “That would be great.”

“I mean, we could always just take a cold shower?” She suggests and this time she shifts to her side to look at him.

“Did you just say ‘we’?” He asks and turns his head…his body must stay where it is, unmoved, so he doesn’t turn liquid.

“I mean, unless you don’t want me there,” Tessa shrugs. “No touchy, and all.”

“Okay, the thing is,” he starts and finally does roll to his side and brings an already greasy arm over to play with the sports crop-top she’s wearing over nothing but a tiny pair of bikini bottoms, “shower with you sounds great…”

“But?” She smirks and catches his wrist, holds it for a moment and then gives up (too exhausting) and lets him carry on exploring the seam on her shirt, brushing his fingertips against her stomach just light enough that it wouldn’t be considered actual touching.

 

“But getting in there is so much work,” he sighs. “You have to get up, get naked, get in the shower, turn it on…so many steps.”

“I can shortcut that,” Tessa tells him, ever efficient, and then curls up for a second so she can take off her panties and throw them off the bed in one fell swoop. She doesn’t even give him time to compliment her on her speed in face of this treacherous heat wave when she has plucked the shirt off of her back and now lies fully naked in front of him. “Want me to do you, too?”

“Always,” he grins, shit-eating and pleased with himself and she just rolls her eyes.

 

It’s a good thing it’s a lazy Sunday and he hasn’t bothered changing out of his sleep shorts and has been shirtless since nine AM, so he’s matching her birthday suit pretty quickly.

“I need a break,” he tells her though, because even the lifting his hips to help her pry off his pants and boxer briefs was a little too much exertion for his system (he’s still getting half-hard, because she’s naked and he’s nothing but predictable). 

“And something else, by the looks of it,” Tessa mutters, glancing down at him.

“Hmmm, yeah,” he smiles dumbly. “Just not here or I’ll get a heat stroke.”

“You’re such a baby,” she scoffs and just like that, she has jumped to her feet, ever so agile all of the sudden. (It’s really wonderful how much she likes it when he gets excited about her, really fucking wonderful.)

 

“Ugh, you and your hot yoga,” he says, rolling onto his back and looking up at her where she stands on the side of their bed and holds out her hands impatiently, like she’s not bothered by the temperatures at all.

“Come on now, big guy,” she commands and he follows, letting her grab him by the arms and pull him up, manhandling him until he stands opposite her, already exhausted, feeling like he is pouring sweat all over, even in the really obscure places like the backside of his knees, his belly button and, like, the top of his ears.

 

“Wait,” he says, when Tess has started pulling him to the door by his hand and has the handle turned down. She stops. “We’re kinda naked…let’s not scar Jordan, huh?”

“Oh, she’s not back yet,” Tessa waves it away. Her sister had arrived late on Friday and would be staying with them until early on Tuesday, so as to see Tessa and some other friends from Montreal for a bit before setting out on her sabbatical year of travelling the world. “She won’t be ‘till six.”

“So, you’re telling me I can be naked in our house again?” Scott asks, pulling her in as she opens the door and nuzzles his head into her neck, making her giggle.

“Oh, like you’ve been deprived of that for so long,” Tessa huffs and he quickly let’s go off her. One, because he doesn’t appreciate how his nether region is gearing up for more which equals ball sweat (and  _ no, thanks _ to that) and because it’s generally too close and too hot for nuzzling of any kind, as much as that annoys him. 

 

“Shower,” he says, still remaining that grip on her hand though, even if it feels like their palms might be melting together like two candles sitting too close. “Now.”

She giggles as she leads the way, down the hall and into the master bathroom, the one with the giant, walk in shower with the two (not one, _ two! _ ) rainfall shower heads (those came with the renovation, a new AC system didn’t). And look, they do like their little luxuries here and there but mostly, Tessa and Scott don’t live the bougiest of lives, honest, but that bathroom and that shower in particular really is pretty darn exuberant. They splurged on that and it was well worth it.

 

It’s the coolest thing: the shower itself takes up the whole far wall and is tiled white up to the ceiling and generously around the two corners of the room. The two giant shower-heads are close enough together to create one magnificent wall of water in that is kept from the dark hardwood floor by a single pane of glass in the middle, creating a partition between shower and floorboards. (Tessa lays out towels in front of it every time anyway, because she doesn’t want to take any chances.) Scott gently pushes her inside the door, watches her neatly fold out the towels and doesn’t bother locking up behind him, too focused on getting her under the spray with him. 

“Look who can suddenly move again,” Tessa laughs as he pokes her backside with his knuckles, trying to get her to hurry up with all the re-discovered energy of a small puppy.

 

Her laughter turns into a high-pitched shriek when he turns the water on and it runs very cold. Suffice it to say, his downstairs situation is immediately dampened a little bit and he hurriedly fiddles with the controls to make it a little less arctic. By then, Tessa is back to cackling. 

“You stop laughing or I’ll turn it to freezing again,” Scott snarls and collects some water in his palm to splash it at her before he pulls her in by the waist and hugs her close from behind. “And you don’t want it to be, I’m no use to you under cold water.”

“Oh, you’re doing pretty good,” Tessa hums and spins around in his embrace like a weasel, her hand flying down to soothe the effect the chill had on him. She’s doing remarkably quick work of it, too.

 

He eases into it, the spray cooling him down as her fingers flit over his length and he lets his head fall onto her shoulder, mouthing at what skin he can reach, drinking the water that runs down her neck which might be his favourite way of staying hydrated yet. He hums contentedly and she chuckles in that adorable, self-satisfied way that makes him even harder in her grip. 

“I fucking love Sundays,” he mutters and starts kissing along the side of her face, bringing his hands up to smooth her hair back and hold her head as he puts his lips on hers finally. The only annoying thing being that he can’t kiss her quite as long as usual because there is constantly water in his nose so he needs to come up for air more. She doesn’t seem to mind though. She grins when he goes in for another open-mouthed kiss, twirling her tongue gamely with his, which gives him an idea he doesn’t take too long to follow up on.

 

He’s on his knees in front of her in moments, running his mouth down her body, kissing and nibbling at her belly button piercing for a second and then nudges her forward until her back connects with the wall and he is sure she is balanced enough for him to lift her leg and place it on his arched back. He looks up at her and blinks against the running water. She reacts quickly, working her fingers into his hair and along his forehead, keeping the droplets away from his eyes. He thanks her by going in to suck her sensitive skin into his mouth, covering her sex with his lips and maps her out, as he’s used to. As she likes it.

 

He wraps one arm around her thigh, so he can pinch and knead her perfect, firm ass while he uses the other to work his index and middle finger inside her gently, keeping his mouth on her that whole time. Her hips tilt forward, into him and her nails on his scalp tell him he’s doing something right…much like the cute little gasps that escape her throat. So he keeps at it, setting up a steady rhythm, adjusting the angle of his fingers pushing in and out and goes harder when she mewls. The heel of her foot presses down hard into his back as she’s trying to hold herself up and the thought alone makes him moan against her flesh. 

Trained and confident, he flicks his tongue over his favourite little spot, licks and circles it until she claws at his head and he finally relents. She takes her leg from his shoulders by herself but he plucks his hands from her to steady her legs anyway and won’t come back up until she’s standing firm again. Only then does he rise to his feet to where she’s already waiting, chasing him into a sloppy kiss that feels like it must look naughty as hell and he loves it.

 

He also loves when she blindly reaches behind her for the loofa and takes a shower gel bottle from the rack on the side with equally fumbling hands. Truthfully, the amount of body wash she unloads on the sponge is a bit excessive but he doesn’t mind at all when she starts squeezing it against his skin, making it foam and bubble. She takes her damn sweet time soaping him up, like she’s a bleach blonde pop singer and he’s a car she needs to get really, really clean but he doesn’t complain. Indeed he does the opposite when she starts divulging more and more attention to his engine, if you wanna stick to the stupid car metaphor he can’t quite get out of his head because he’s not very smart right now. Or maybe it should be the ignition? Or the stick? 

 

He can’t linger on the thought because then she’s sunken to her knees and looks up at him with those emerald eyes and he blesses the edible shower-gel they invested in because she doesn’t wait to take him in her mouth. (So what if his underwear mostly smells like ‘exotic fruit’, there’s worse things to smell like and Tessa seems to like the taste of it on him, so, once more, no reason at all to complain.) She’s done her positioning so wisely, thoughtful as she is, because she has turned them over so that she is kneeling with the wall against her back which means that he can a) push into her and she won’t slip away and b) he can put his hands on the tiles to keep upright while she chokes him down to the hilt and blows his brains out almost literally.

 

He needs to stop her, the way he often has to when she chooses to go down on him for foreplay, because she just likes doing it too much for him to not go completely boneless over it. Sometimes he allows himself to come in her mouth but never if she hasn’t at least come on his tongue before and since she hasn’t and he still has a very specific idea that involves her bent over, he taps her on her cheek lightly, his cue for her to let off and she follows. She gives him one last thorough suck, cupping his balls with one hand while the other smoothes out his abdomen and lets his dick pop lewdly from between her lips and grins up at him. She only stops grinning to peck a little smooch on his length once where it points up beside her, hard as a solid rock, and then takes the hand he offers to get up again. 

 

“I so don’t deserve you,” he breathes once he has her back in his arms and then makes quick work of moving her over to the other wall, the one with the very durable towel rack, there’s not much more water hitting them there but he doesn’t mind. There’s no better place for what he wants to do now, so he can abide not getting rained on for a while. When he says “Up!” which is technically a skating cue for when she’s supposed to jump on him, she obliges, easily landing on his hips, careful to keep from crushing his dick between them (bless her heart). She practically holds herself up, grabbing the uppermost bar of the rack and hooks her elbows under it for support. 

For him this means he only has to align them, which he does, generously measuring her out, drenching himself with her before taking a long, extravagant moment of slowly inching into her, staring into her eyes as if he could penetrate her soul the way he does her body. He lives for these moments. Not even so much because of the sex but because of the connection, the trust there. She lets him do all these things to her, has faith in his abilities and love for her and rewards him with all those wonderful affirmations. That she likes it, that he drives her crazy, that she always, always wants him.

 

Of course the way she feels is amazing as well and he could, honest to God, live his life out quite happily just stuck between her legs and with her in the circle of his arms. Blissful just at the concept, he kisses her harshly as he starts fucking her and growls into her mouth when he feels her clenching her muscles in time with him pushing into her. She’s doing it on purpose and he is so thankful for those little exercises, he could downright cry. 

“That right there,” he grinds out and punctuates it with a sharp thrust. “Keep doing that.” 

She does.

 

She keeps doing it even when he sets her back down and bends her over to hold on to the bottom of the rack and takes her from behind while spanking her ass until it’s an angry pink and she moans loudly with every slap. (She once told him that she always hated being spanked until he did it for the first time and with him, it turns her on to no fucking end, and that’s another thing he could cry about.) He nearly comes right there, when he watches her put her face on her folded arms on the rack and puff out a breath through puckered red and bruised lips. She hums an “uh” that comes out so grumbling low and sensual, he has to pull out of her and rearrange them to stop from unraveling on the spot. 

 

“Got close there?” She asks him over her shoulder cheekily, following where he leads her as he coughs up a throaty laugh. “You could’ve come, you know, we got all night.”

And while that’s an excellent perspective he still shakes his head as he pulls her in close again before covering her hands with his to place them flat on the glass pane over her head, looking into the rest of the bathroom, and then orders her to “stay” as he aligns them once more. He puts one arm to use for roaming her still slightly soapy chest and one to stroke her below in time with the rhythm he establishes. She arches her back into him deliciously, her hands clawing at the unrelenting glass and moans loud enough for him to snap his head into her neck and run his teeth up and down her skin.

 

“You feel so good,” he tells her, the first in a string of dirty compliments he knows she’ll barely hear because he can tell precisely from  _ how _ she feels that she is getting close. He intensifies his movements, adds a sway to his hips to gauge out just the spot to hit inside her and knows he’s found it once she keens and gives more pressure pack, slamming her ass backwards into his hips. Hmm, yeah, she likes this. And he loves that she does.

 

“Scott,” she exhales sharply. “Keep going…right there, yes, yeah…fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” And when she curses, that’s basically her way of saying “I’m gonna come”, which he takes as such and works up the hand that was pinching one of her nipples at a time to her jaw to turn her head so he can look at her face spasm as she does. It’s still one of the most beautiful looks on her and getting to be the one to put it there is honestly one of the greatest honours of his life.

 

She yelps a high-pitched hybrid of a scream and a sob and actually bangs one of her hands against the glass, making it shiver, and this mildly violent outburst from pleasure is enough to set Scott off to follow her suit. Half-choking on a groan, he flings himself after her and lets go, allowing the release he’s held back so he could take care of her first to flood him, punch him fully in the gut. He opens his eyes, looking to connect with Tessa…the  _ exact _ same moment the door to the bathroom flies open.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Holy shit. _ It’s instant Mayhem. Terrible. Unfathomable. Chaos. Three things happening at once that are each more excruciating than the next and there is nothing he can do.  _ Christ! _

 

One: Jordan freezes in the door, a look of abject horror on her face that goes as red as the sound-cancelling _ beats _ headphones she’s wearing. Two: Tessa is startledly opening her eyes, flinches and yelps in shock when she understands what is happening. And Three: Scott is still coming, not helped at all by Tessa going rigid and all clenched up as he is still inside her. 

 

He’s shaking violently, a pitiful, unfortunate, high-pitched, rumbling noise of pleasure breaking free from his throat and he’s pretty sure he blacks out for half a second until he comes back into his body and does the only thing he can think of which is to box Tess in, curl around her and cover her modesty with his hands (all the while still very much buried inside her on the outs of a damn intense orgasm). In the next millisecond that his mind clears up just enough to grasp that he just came inside his partner while being walked in on by her  _ sister _ , he instantly and fervently hopes to just swiftly die on the spot. 

 

Jordan yells “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, oh my God,” covers her eyes and tumbles backwards out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He prays to God that she hasn’t noticed exactly  _ what _ part of the party she just crashed there.

 

“Jesus,” Scott pants, still mindlessly clutching his fiancée tight until she steps away and turns to look at him like she did when they finished their individual Free at the Olympics…only that it’s not joy and elation on her face but sheer, naked mortification. 

“Shit,” she breathes, her neck and cheeks and ears flushed red and not from sex alone. “Why the heck didn’t you lock the door, Scott?!”

 

“I’m sorry,” he exhales and looks at the state of them in the faint reflection of the glass pane, her  body red and blushing, her hair in disarray and his sticking out in all directions and tries to combine that image with the position they just got caught in. Tessa all full-frontal-nude pressed up against the absolutely see-through glass, his hand between her legs, arching and rutting into her from behind...there’s no way it wasn’t 100% obvious what they were doing exactly. (But God, is he glad that this hasn’t happened three years earlier when Jordan hadn’t known about them yet, because that would have been pretty impossible to sell as “platonic business partners platonically working on their professional relationship that is platonic”. Small blessings.)

 

“Okay that’s it,” Tessa tells him, shaking her head, possibly on the edge of hyperventilating just a little. “We gotta live in here now. It’s done. Look, we have running water and we can eat the shower gel and...and stay here forever. We can never come out again.”

“Babe,” he says, even though a part of him predictably finds the idea very appealing indeed. “It’s our house. And we’re all adults. It’ll be fine.”

 

It’s not fine. It’s fucking excruciating. They step out into the hall in their stolen hotel bathrobes and find Jordan in the kitchen, clutching a pot of coffee and looking traumatised, like she’s seen things that will haunt her forever (and she obviously  _ has _ ). Tessa apologises profoundly and Scott watches both women aptly look at some stray points next to each others heads, wishing he could merge and become one with the kitchen isle he’s holding onto for dear life.

 

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry,” Jordan says and studies her mug. “I should’ve turned the music off, I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t see you around the house and so I thought you were in the backyard or something.”

“I forgot to lock the door,” Scott mutters sheepishly and he’s running so hot and sweaty from humiliation that he could go right up and take another shower. God, this is  _ so _ embarrassing.

“This is so embarrassing,” says Tessa, speaking his mind and he would find it cute and romantic if he didn’t want to die so badly.

“No, no,” Jordan says hurriedly, still not looking at them. “It’s fine, you’re old enough…it’s just, you know,…it’s one thing to know it, it’s another thing to  _ see _ it. ‘Cause it’s…you’re babies, you know? In my head you’re still ten and twelve and that’s just not…I just…hope I can forget this as quickly as possible. I almost wanted to whack you over the head, Scott. For fondling my baby sister.”

 

This is the first time Jordan looks at him and it’s also the moment he breaks. Into a hollering laugh, that is, and thankfully, Jordan follows suit, dispersing at least 20% of the awkwardness. They laugh and laugh, nearly hysterical, grabbing their bellies until Tessa chimes in, but holds onto him from the side anyway because she is still shook as hell. But they’ll survive it. Surely. They gotta.

 

“Oh, you guys,” Jordan wheezes after a while, “excuse me for a bit, yeah? I gotta go bleach my eyeballs.” And she backs out of the room with that, muttering something about a group chat that Scott does not want to follow up on and turns to Tessa instead, who’s clutching at his robe still. They look at each other for a long moment, both shaking their heads at each other, the embarrassment absolutely still sitting bone deep.

“But I mean, you know, aside from the ending,” Scott says eventually, attempting some humour so he doesn’t start screaming from shame, and smirks at her for good measure, “that was pretty nice, eh?”

“Shut  _ up _ , Scott,” Tessa near well yells, scandalised, and smacks him hard on the shoulder. “You’re  _ such _ an idiot!” 

 

They look at each other for one more breathless moment and then simultaneously grunt out ugly spurts of laughter. They crack up, even worse than before, like two kids who try to stifle a laughing fit in church. They laugh until neither of them can keep on their feet so they bend over howling and wind up on the floor, leaning against the kitchen isle, hitting the tiles and their thighs with their palms. There’s really only one thing Scott knows as he’s trying hard to catch his breath and get used to this new reality in which his future sister in law witnessed them have sex in their pompous ass shower: 

 

This is gonna make one hell of a story at the dead-of-night part of their wedding reception… _ holy shit. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and don't forget to wear sunscreen <3


End file.
